you say tomato......

I used to have a green thumb. I grew everything from flowering cacti to large hanging plants with even larger names. I even got, to my husband’s untenable joy, my Christmas poinsettia to flower at Easter time. I grew herbs in tiny pots on my kitchen windowsill. Yes the thumb was definitely green. Not so much anymore.

 

I planted tomatoes. I got four. Two plants, two tomatoes each. I also planted patio tomatoes. Remember when they were called cherry tomatoes? Little round tomatoes. Nothing’s changed, but now they are either patio tomatoes at 1.99 a pound, or cherry tomatoes at 2.49 or the newest addition to the tomato family, grape tomatoes at a ridiculous 2.99 a pound. I got a whopping 13 of those. Two salads full on harvest night.

Last year my son gave me two Topsy Turvy planters. Like me he probably couldn’t sleep one night and saw an infomercial convincing him that tomatoes should be grown hanging upside down because….well, just because. But last year didn’t work out so good. The upside down plants never really took to the whole reversed growing regime and simply laid there. Not one tomato. I blamed the bees for not pollinating correctly but I think it was probably the sporadic (at best) watering. This year I started them with big, healthy plants from Home Depot. (because where else would you buy big healthy plants?) I had my husband hook up a hose on my deck so I could water on a regular basis. The plants grew large and lush. The bees must have found their way to my deck and suddenly I had little yellow flowers turning into green tomatoes. And if we liked green tomatoes it would have been a success. But the tomatoes just hung there, staying green until they rotted. So I started picking them green, pre-rot, and allowed them to ripen on my kitchen counter. I even put some in brown paper bags which I heard expedites the ripening process. I still remained with hard green tomatoes until they turned into hard green tomatoes with mold. I threw them out. Hey, Beefsteaks are only .99 a pound in season.

I planted basil and oregano. The basil grew tall and thrived until I decided to start picking the leaves to use in my tomato gravy (yes I say gravy, not sauce) when it suddenly folded over and limply lost its great green color. I guess that was it’s way of expressing its discord at being violated. So, no pesto tonight either. The oregano never really looked like the dried flakes I buy at the supermarket so I just enjoyed the smell and harvested none.

The only other edible things I attempt to grow were peppers. Green Bell peppers, and as I had seen how well I did with the ‘green’ tomatoes I figured this to be a slam dunk. Wrong! The plant thrived the peppers did not. I got one pepper the size of a walnut which I watched carefully each day so as not to let it go from green bell to rotten produce. The pepper grew to almost fist size and was hours away from the big harvest when a squirrel brazenly scaled the deck, hung upside down from my Topsy Turvy planter and confiscated my single beautiful pepper and absconded with it into the tree.

Did I mention that Key Food has a lovely produce department?

what the #$@*!

I have to stop reading the paper. It upsets me. No, it more than upsets me, it causes me to….well, Ramble.

A writer for the Daily News is upset with the CDC for not making a bigger deal out of the fact that, according to him, statistics show that blacks and Hispanics are contracting the swine flu more often than the rest of us. Maybe we wash our hands more, maybe we cover our nose and mouth more when we sneeze, maybe we throw our used tissues away before the germs can make their way to another poor soul. Whatever the reason, what is his point? Would he feel better if the white Americans got the flu more? The Italians? Greeks? What the $#@*! He goes on to quote statistics from Boston, Chicago and Oklahoma where again, blacks and Hispanics (oh, and in Oklahoma, Native Americas as well) are coming down with swine flu more often. He claims it is because they are from low-income families who can’t afford health care and therefore can’t go to the doctor and therefore can’t get the care they need and therefore end up in cardiac arrest and therefore have to go to the emergency room for treatment. I have an idea, you get sick and fear you have the swine flu…..go to the emergency room. Don’t wait til you go into cardiac arrest….a low income doesn’t make you lose your common sense. A Brooklyn pediatrician attributes the high Hispanic numbers to the fact that so many Mexican immigrants (many of them illegals) have compromised immune systems due to a lack of Vitamin D. The news writer wants the CDC to waste valuable money that could be spent on preventing or curing the flu on a study to prove that blacks and Hispanics are the most likely candidates to get it.

Ahmed Khalfan Ghailani (say that three times fast) was the first Al Qaeda murderer to be brought to the United States from Guantanamo by President Obama. He is going to be tried in Manhattan’s Federal Court by 12 you-and-me New Yorker’s instead of a military tribunal. This bomb making one-time cook for Osama Bin Laden lucked out again when Attorney General Holder decided that the Manhattan U.S attorney could not ask for the death penalty. We are sending a terrible message to the nations that wish to do us harm….we are going soft. We will indict and prosecute, but we will do so with a weakened sympathetic and caring hand. When questioned why the death penalty was removed from the proverbial table, a unintelligible answer surfaced. Since earlier embassy bombers were spared the death penalty, then it would only be fair to keep it consistent. What the $#@*! The mastermind of the 9/11 attack, Khalid Shaikh Mohammed may also be sent to New York for prosecution. What then? Will Holder also allow him to escape the death penalty under his ‘consistency’ rule? Why is it again that President Obama wants Guantanamo closed?

David Letterman slept with several woman. Consensual sex. That would be where two adults agree to have sex. Good for him. But there are people that feel that he abused his employer status and therefore abused them. What the $#@*! The girl in the middle is 34, not 16. She knew what she was doing when she climbed between the sheets with Letterman, and then again with the producer Joe Halderman (the dumbest blackmailer in history). What she didn’t know was that when you cheat on your live-in with your boss you need to NOT take notes. Not write everything down. (Didn’t Monica’s stained blue dress teach her anything?) And if she wanted to write sexually explicit letters to Letterman she should have mailed them instead of leaving them laying around for her boyfriend to find and use as blackmail bait. She is not a victim, the others he dallied with are not victims, the network airing his now through-the-roof ratings show is certainly not a victim, so what the hell is anyone (including me) talking about this for?

thanks...

Thank you Gov. Paterson for shaving. Being blind I suppose you couldn’t see how hideous you looked, kinda like Stevie Wonder and his braids, but I would have thought your friends and family would have at least whispered in your ear…“lose the hair, Braille boy.”

Thank you to the NY Yankees for clinching the AL East and a big NAH NAH NAH NAH NAH to the Boston Red Sox and to the Daily News for putting Derek Jeter on the cover of the paper after the win.

Thank you to CBS for airing the 8th annual Tunnel to the Towers Run last Sunday morning. As I watched from my couch (hey I was sick) I never felt more proud to be a New Yorker and more importantly, an American.

Thank you Dr. Oz for putting on a shirt and tie for your new Oprah fueled TV show. I am sick of seeing you in scrubs, we already know you are a doctor!

Thank you to the Hershey’s company for making dark chocolate kisses. I get to fool myself into thinking they are ok indulge on since they have those heart healthy flavinoids.

Thank you to the powers that be, that there are no explicit videos of David Letterman’s sex romps. (so far) I don’t think I could watch that gap toothed old man having sex with anyone let alone women half his age.

Thank you to Disney & Pixar for giving us Toy Story 1 & 2 in the first place, but to revamp them into 3D is a gift.

Thank you to the creators of Suduko….It has single-handedly kept my mind from turning into the mush I know it wants to.

Thank you to Starbucks for introducing Via Ready Brew, an instant coffee packet for us instant-gratification junkies. Tastes like crap but ready in an instant and it’s Starbucks…what more could a coffee snob ask for?

Thank you to Continental airlines for not cutting out the in flight snacks. For the price of an airline ticket I would like something more than a seat two sizes too small and a carry-on restriction.

Thank you Whoopie Goldberg for finally showing your true colors. Polanski not a rapist? The girl was 13! I think your dreads have been in too long….

Thank you Rio for winning the right to host the 2012 Olympics. Of course we could use the revenue, but we have enough foreigners here already, athletes or not.

And a very sarcastic Gee Thanks…. to the Daily News and other media outlets for showing the world exactly where the surveillance cameras are and aren’t in Manhattan. So if I was a terrorist I would know exactly where to smile as I lit the fuse.

tea anyone?

I am babysitting.  The bane of every horror movie.  The baby is asleep upstairs and the house is quiet, except for the infernal clanging on the back deck from one too many wind chimes. It is time for me to nestle myself on the couch to watch Desperate Housewives.  I figured I would make a cup of tea before I got comfortable, and don't they usually leave a little snack for the sitter as well.  As I near the kitchen doorway I realize there is a baby safety gate in place.  For almost ten minutes I pushed and twisted, prodded and poked but I couldn't get the gate to open and I couldn't climb over it either since it stood waist high.  If this was a baby gate it was for the baby orangetan exhibit at the zoo.  I contemplated forgetting about the tea, but now it was the principle.  I should be able to win out over a stupid baby gate.  I pulled a dining room chair over to the gate, stepped up and over forgetting the drop on the other side was going to cripple me.  It didn't but now that I was in...there was no way out.  And certainly not carrying a cup of hot tea.  What if the baby got up?  I was beginning to see why they always wrote the babysitting thing into horror films. I pulled the kitchen nook bench over to the kitchen side of the baby gate from hell, and realized that this in fact would work.  I could have my damn tea after all.  Ha ha, take that baby gate!  I looked through four cupboards and two cabinets and couldn't find a mug or cup or anything that wasn't plastic or had Spongebob on it.  If there hadn't been one in the drainboard by the sink the whole tea deal was a bust.  It took another 10 minutes to find the tea bags that were cleverly hidden, but my cup was now locked and loaded and nuking away in the microwave.  I managed to get up on the bench without falling or burning myself, over the gate and onto the dining room chair still unscalded.  I balanced the cup on a shelf, knocking over a few framed pictures, and decended from the dining room chair.  My pride intact, I felt euphoric at my success. 

I took my tea over to the couch and looked for the remote.  There were three.  I pressed power on one of them.  Nothing.  I pressed TV on another one.  Nothing.  I pressed power on the third one and the box on top of the TV sprung to life.  The TV however remained dark.  I pressed TV on each remote again.  Nothing.  My tea was getting cold.  I decided that it made no sense to fight with yet another inanimate object so I left the remotes and took my tea over to the dining room table where my daughter's laptop sat.  I opened it and clicked on the Internet Explorer icon.  It wanted a password.  I guessed.  Wrong!  I guessed again.  Wrong again!  But then I remembered that my daughter had given me the password the last time I babysat and as I sat there trying to get my short term memory to kick in,  the monitor remained as dark as the TV screen.  I remembered hearing an infomercial guy talking about some product that helped you with memory and he said that simple math equations can sharpen your brain enough to help you remember things.  So there I sat with my cold tea and the dark TV and the laptop waiting patiently for a password doing multiplication out loud.  9 x 2 = 18, 9 x 3 = 24, 9 x 4 = 36, 9 x......and there it was....I remembered!  I typed in the password and waited for my mail to popup.  As I chatted with my sister in law on line the alarm went off.  Blaring, screaming alarm.  And then nothing.  I jumped up and called my son...the one with the broken toe.  The one I called an ass for breaking his toe.  The one I now wanted to limp over and help me check the doors and windows.  He came with a three foot sword.  My hero.  He checked the basement and didn't realize to question why the bench was by the baby gate.  I called my daughter's cell.  No answer.  My other daughter's cell.  Voicemail.  My son-in-law's cell....and she answered.  I couldn't hear her amongst the roar of the venue, but I did hear this....I DONT HAVE AN ALARM.   Oh yes you do!  And it works....and by the way,  I am not babysitting here anymore.  I will watch the baby at my house, buy a crib, a playpen, stay up all nght...whatever it takes....but this will be the last time I baby sit here.  Sorry!

this little piggy

Everyone is talking about health care. I try to follow it but simply can’t. I have no idea what an HMO is as opposed to a PPO or a PHO. I know COBRA is something that extends health coverage after you’ve gotten your sorry ass fired or thought it would be a smart move to quit in this horrible economy. My idea of health coverage is the one I have known since I got married 35 years ago to my civil servant. Is it good? Don’t know…I have never had a problem seeing the doctor that I want, the surgeries I have needed or the medications that went along with both. I do know that with what my husband pays for it through his automatic payroll deduction I could have paid for medical school, became a doctor and treated myself…..but so far so good. What I do have an issue with the other part of health care….the people behind the counters.

My son broke his toe. He was going too fast over what looks like the ruins of Pompeii on a bicycle. They call it mountain biking. I call it, ‘you’re an ass, what did you think was gonna happen?’ But I digress…..so while he wouldn’t listen to me, his girlfriend was able to convince him to go to the emergency room to have it x-rayed. It was broken and since they do not cast a toe, he was simply given a prescription for pain meds and sent on his limping way. We had a few pain pills left from the last injury he sustained so it wasn’t until a few days later when he was planning a ‘hiking’ trip (I kid you not) that I dropped off the prescription. I went to pick it up after work only to be told that the emergency room doctor did not sign the prescription and that they couldn’t fill it. I called (call #1) the hospital emergency room and was told by some snarky sounding woman that I would need the name of the doctor that treated my son which could be found on the yellow paper they released him with which was currently in his briefcase with him in court. When I got Dr. McDopey’s name I called (call #2 & 3) back the emergency room to be told by another uncaring toad that the info I was originally told was wrong. I needed to call the ‘follow up office’ in the morning since it was now long closed. The fact that this hospital even needed an office that just ‘follows up’, leads me to believe that there are many issues that need…well, following up on. I wait until morning as my son hopped and moaned. Unsympathetically I reminded him that he is an ass! Anyway morning arrives and I call (call #4) the ‘follow up’ office where I am greeted by, I am sure, a woman who hasn’t gotten laid in like 5 years. What a bitch! Immediately I am chastised for making the call for my 27 year old son who she thought should have been making the call himself.  Listen Nurse Ratched, don’t worry about why I am taking care of this and just do your damn job.  She said her office does not call in prescriptions and that I would need the drug store to call them. I called (call #5) the pharmacy again and gave all of the info to the person pretending to care on the other end. I left for work. After work my son went to pick up the pain meds and of course, another snag. No one, I repeat no one there knew what he was talking about….there was no note to call the hospital, no note stating what happened when they did get around to calling the hospital and no one was owning up to being the person I spoke to 6 hours earlier. They were however willing to throw a fellow employee under the bus since she had left already. Must have been her!

My son, throbbing and limping (and still planning the hiking trip) called (call #6) the emergency room and got a real honest to goodness doctor who was willing to call the pharmacy and order the pain meds. The prescription for 8 pills was picked up by my son this morning. He left for hiking tonight. I hope he breaks his ankle.

no place like home

My grandson put his hand in his pocket to retrieve a chocolate candy bar. What he took out was a mess in a wrapper. It had melted. The candy bar was useless and his pants needed to be changed as well.

I blew out the candles on the dining room table only to find that the wax had melted and was now ruining the finish on my wooden table. It has gone through the beautiful table cloth and was now in the process of defiling the table surface.

All the kids wanted to do was put a carrot nose and button eyes on their snowman. But the weather didn’t cooperate and Frosty melted into a puddle before the kids got to enjoy their labor.

The cocktail party was a big success, except for one thing. The ice bucket was empty, just a pail of useless icy water remained. The warmth of the festivities had melted the once crisp frozen cubes.

You killed her! Hail Dorothy! The bucket of water had successfully melted the Wicked Witch of the West. She simply shriveled up and died a puddle of her former self.

A saddened child, a heartbroken hostess, a form of murder!      

Melt……...........................Melting……......…………..…..Melted.

So why is it they call America, or more specifically New York, a “melting pot”…..like it’s a good thing?! But maybe they did get it right….we are melting, puddling and becoming useless as the immigrants come and refuse to acclimate, use our language, and salute our flag.

The block I grew up on looks like the Middle East. The mothers wheeling baby carriages have most of their faces covered up with a burkha, their speech unintelligible. The men all have skull caps and dark swarthy skin. There is no eye contact with anyone not shrouded or weather-beaten. I am an American. I am the stranger here.

The neighborhood I grew up in, just blocks from the street I lived on looks like Bejing. The store’s signs are all in Chinese lettering that no one other than themselves can read.
Zao An Ba Ba instead of Good Morning, Xie Xie instead of Thank you. All this politeness falls on deaf ears…I speak (and hear) English. I am an American. I am the stranger here.

The places I shopped as a teenager and worked as an adult have been flooded with Ukrainians who refuse to speak English when there is another Russian present. As you walk down the street you can almost see the Kremlin in the distance. The local high school even allows its students to take the NYS Regents in Russian. I took it in English. I am an American. I am the stranger here.

I’m melting, melting……what a world, what a world!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qfV_ENR5IZE

not the only loser

Oh well, so much for the old adage ‘third times a charm.’ I took the Who Wants to be a Millionaire test for the third time and didn’t pass AGAIN. I went with two other friends who also didn’t pass, but at least they didn’t have the dubious honor of carving a third notch in their loser belt. They don’t tell you what passing is, or how many you got wrong or even the correct answers. The one consolation was that only six in over a hundred test takers passed. We got to watch the filming of three shows, but I never made it to the hot seat, I didn’t get to talk to Meredith and I certainly didn’t win a million dollars or even enough to cover the $18 salad I had for lunch afterwards. At least not this time around. The guy in desperate need of a visit from the follicle fairy who talked when you weren’t supposed to talk and took too many of the sucking candies they passed around…he passed. The woman from Wewaddle, Wisconsin with her knee high knee-highs and kelly green scarf (when we were clearly told to wear only dark colors)…she passed. The high school teacher from Yonkers who bantered with the warm up guy about the constitution but clearly was not in front of his high school students this day…..he passed. Three others who weren’t in our section also passed showing no enthusiasm and no fanfare. Damn them.

I should have known it was going to be a bad day. It started out earlier than I would have liked, waking at 5am for no apparent reason, the ATM machine had no cash to give out, the Dunkin Donuts line was 20 deep, and the gas station attendant had an attitude when I told him the pump wasn’t working. The traffic on the West Side highway was bumper to bumper with tour buses, cabs and really lousy inconsiderate drivers. Time was of the essence now so when a construction worker, all tough in his little orange vest with the flourescent stripe, decided to direct traffic I should have just apologized to my friends and gone home. Turning cars were blocking the intersection and me. We were at a standstill. Tough guy stands in front of my car just as the box cleared and I could have proceeded. He continues to direct turning cars in front of me, who now also block the box leaving me standing still again. Had he remained in front of my car he would have ended up an orange blob with a flourescent stripe under my front left wheel, but instead he sauntered over to my window with a half assed admittance that he screwed up and made things worse. Knowing that my mouth might get me in more trouble than this was worth, especially since I was in a inescapable situation, I told the man to get away from my car, and when he wouldn’t I picked up my cell phone as if I was calling for help.  He left. Now the funny thing is, who the hell was I gonna call?….the cops couldn’t have gotten anywhere near us unless they helicopter-ed in, and I doubt me, my friends and our millionaire tickets warranted much attention since Amadinajad and Gadhafi (wasn’t it spelled Khaddafy a few years back?) were in town. The box cleared and once again we were on our way.

I dropped my friends off at the corner and began the daunting task of looking for a parking spot or parking garage. One 'i can walk that far' block away was a beautiful spot….just off a corner, in front of the $18 salad shop, with a no tow zone and a muni-meter.  Fifty cents for 15 minutes. So for an approximate 5 hours stay, it would cost me $10.….in quarters. Did you do the math? That’s 40 quarters. I had seven. I put in my seven, got my receipt, put it upside down in the windshield and hoped for the best. Maybe the meter maids/men/people/persons (whatever is politically correct these days) were too busy on the east side at the UN where they were allowing the aforementioned tyrants to speak. Either my upside down ruse worked, or they really were busy on the east side, either way no ticket!

Regardless of how the day began or ended, I will apply for more tickets, I will try out again….and take the test a fourth time. After all I have a lot of room on my belt for loser notches.

hanging ten.....

I am watching the Yankee game. I am watching the new CBS show The Good Wife. I am watching Pee Wee Herman on the new Jay Leno show. I am watching Fox 5 News. I am watching Scarface. This is how it is to watch TV with my husband. Unless House is on. Then, and only then do I have one glorious hour of no channel surfing. Most couples I know watch different shows at night which explains why most houses, according to statistics have 3.5 TV sets. I have 6.

My husband likes to watch 4 minutes of a show, determine it is not view worthy and move on. Sometimes I get to see an entire segment, commercial to commercial before the channel is changed, but that is rare. And actually worse since I would like to know how it ends. The worst however, is when we are watching or should I say, just passing through….a game show, like Deal or No Deal. I just saw this guy say no deal to over $100,000 and he clicks. Can you put that back? By the time he finds the channel I wanted to go back to, the guy has lost the million, a new contestant is in his place and Howie Mandel is washing his hands.

Most nights while he is channel surfing I too am surfing….the web. We sit opposite each other at the kitchen table, me with my laptop and him with the remote. Click, click…… and click. While I clean up emails, update my Facebook status and pay some bills he is mindlessly clicking thru all 800 channels. Every so often there is a pause in the clicking, I hear a few precious moments of a movie or news brief and back on the road again. Sometimes I don’t know that he changed the channel and a story line takes a weird twist. We were watching the Yankee game and by the time I looked up for the score it had gone from a winning 4 -2 to a losing 5- 10. What the hell happened? Who’s pitching this disaster? It wasn’t til I saw the word Classic in the upper right hand corner that I realized he had put on a different channel, he too thinking he went back to the current game.

The one constant is that if the TV remains on one channel for longer than ten minutes it means one of two things….he is asleep or the show is something filmed in the 1940’s and is in black and white. His father was color blind, could that have anything to do with it I often wonder? It is almost eerie how much he enjoys black and white movies. Westerns, Military, even romance….if they are sans color he enjoys them. Now I am not talking about the silent movie black and whites and although he does like those too but doesn’t seem to read fast enough to really enjoy them.  When the Wizard of Oz goes from black and white Kansas to Technicolor Oz I lose him every time.

There was a Stephen King book made into a movie called Christine. It was about a 1958 Plymouth that was possessed and aside from all the other hideous things it was capable of doing, it always played 50’s music on the radio even though it was the 80’s. That’s kinda what it feels like to watch TV with my husband. The TV goes on, and although the 2009 Fall Season premiers of Biggest Loser, NCIS, Dancing with the Stars and Top Chef are going on, the TV becomes dark and morphs into a black and white archived movie. Scary!

 

Thank God for DVR’s. I DVR everything. I can fast forward through the miniscule parts I saw with him and then finish the show. I can find out how something began, how a ball game ended and even why the Kardashians aren‘t speaking. I can find out who got voted off the island, married the bachelor and how the Gosselin kids enjoyed their 5th birthday party. I just cant watch it all at once.

I'll be in tomorrow....

I hate being sick. I am such a baby. I woke this morning after a lousy night’s sleep to find my throat on fire. And my head hurt. Top, forehead, temples….just one big pain….and it felt like I was wearing a hat two sizes too small that I couldn’t take off. I called work to say that I wouldn’t be in and planned my course of curative action. The medicine cabinet had a minimal stock of pain meds…aspirin, Tylenol, sore throat lozenges, and a musical Spongebob thermometer. Forget the fact that it was a rectal thermometer. I  just assumed that I had no temperature. I took the Tylenol as I whimpered and moaned like a two year old. I fished out two lozenges and made my way to the couch. Of course as soon as I laid down my bladder decided it was time to make a bathroom run. Didn’t it notice me passing the bathroom? I splashed cool water on my face which all but sizzled making me rethink the whole thermometer thing. I made it back to the couch, found the fetal position and covered myself with the throw all the while moaning a slight barely audible sound. (Hey I told you I was a baby)

Within minutes of my delightful posturing under the throw, a wet cold annoying nose prompted me to let him out. I didn’t have much strength left to argue the point, so I just got up and let my dog out. Cursing and moaning. I passed the closet with the medications and ever so momentarily thought about the thermometer…and then continued on to the couch which seemed to get further and further away.

The phone rang. I couldn’t reach it without disrupting my covers, so I let it ring and waited for the answering machine to pick it up. It did, and the person hung up. Bastard! My cell rang. Same hang up scenario only I wouldn’t know that til I crawled from my couch sanctuary and found my cell phone in the bottom of my pocketbook after emptying the contents on the floor as the damn dog barked all but splitting open my head with pain. I want my mommy!

I took two more pills, eyed Spongebob once more, made a bathroom stop and made the trek back to the couch. The dog was eating something. I assumed it was my lozenges since the coffee table was bare. Since they are little more than a sucking candy with menthol I knew it wouldn’t kill him and let him continue his feast. I laid down, covered up and groped for the remote. Nothing. Nowhere. (The dog couldn’t have eaten the remote too could he?) I rolled off the couch since I didn’t have the strength to sit up and found the remote dangerously close to going under the couch where it would have to remain til I had the get up and go to get up and get it. The dog, thinking my materialization on the floor was a signal to play came bounding over. His entire face and paws were red. Blood, no….Fancy Fuschia…my lipstick. Urrgh!

I wiped a tear away as I sprayed the Fancy Fuschia stains on the carpet. After putting away the cleaning supplies I made a cup of tea, grabbed two more lozenges, and cleverly hid them in my pocket. (That dog can’t get one over on me… twice!) The couch just wasn’t working, so I planted myself in the great big leather recliner that my kids bought their father for Fathers Day two years ago that he has yet to recline in. I now know why. Once you recline, if you don’t have abs of steel, you have to remain in that horizontal position until someone comes to your rescue. And I was holding a cup of herbal tea. Since I couldn’t reach the table, can’t sit up enough to sip the tea, and no one was due home for hours I sat holding the tea til I fell asleep. And so as physics would have it, every action has an equal reaction. You let go of a cup of hot tea, you get burned with a cup of hot tea. At least it was herbal.

I sat tacky with tea until I could no longer take the chill and my blanket was on the couch, feet away. Like the adreneline rush of a superhuman feat, I managed the strength to sit up and fall sideways out of the recliner. I went and changed my clothes, took what amounted to an overdose of Tylenol and put on my computer. I gave up trying to take care of myself, I gave up trying to feel better, instead I wrote this. I feel better now.

i tried.....

I love Italian food. I love Chinese food. I love Greek food. Hey, I just love food so I thought at the very least I would like Middle Eastern food. I was wrong.

I went out to eat dinner with some friends at a local Mediterranean restaurant that had come highly recommended. From before we even got seated I knew we were in trouble, at least I was. I felt like a traitor. Like any one of the waiters could have been flying a plane through a building by tomorrow morning. If I had thought about it I would have worn an American flag draped around my neck. But I am so politically incorrect these days, that I thought I would just give this place a chance since the Greek diner we eat at regularly had grown boring. The place was big and airy and filled with mostly middle easterners which if true be told, it is always a good sign if the regulars are of the same culture. While it didn’t seem to bother the others, it gave me the creeps.

The menu was large and varied as was the wine list. The waiter (more Russian looking than Middle Eastern) was tall and dumb and spoke little English. We tried to order drinks. Mine was easy. A glass of Merlot. Where it got trickier was when he was asked what liquor they had. My friend got a vodka and cranberry…score one for the waiter. But when a Bloody Mary was ordered, well…we lost him. I think he heard the word bloody and started picturing the 72 virgins he was promised. The makings of a Bloody Mary explained we moved onto the appetizer. Let me just say, it was delicious. It had a bunch of unrecognizable things pulverized into an even more unrecognizable paste that you ate with delicious bread that you broke rather than sliced. Chick peas, eggplant, and green olives became hummus, Baba Gannouj and something called Fattoush. There were two dipping sauces where the ketchup should have been …..a cucumber yogurt dipping sauce with dill and feta cheese and a spicy tahini sauce and they were NASTY! At least I thought so.

As we figured out what we were having for our main course it dawned on me that I don’t like lamb or seafood so the only thing left on the menu was chicken. No pasta, no BLT, no tuna on Rye. It was about now I started missing my boring Greek diner and the tub of old pickles. Everyone ordered and I got the chicken kebobs which I assumed were like, well shish-kebobs. (What is a shish anyway?) The meal came and there were chunks of chicken, on top of raw onions, on top of a tomato slice, and a burnt hot pepper over a bed of flavorless rice. I guess in the middle east they don’t believe in giving you the shish with your kebobs since I didn’t even get a stick. Dry, tasteless, boring.

Dessert seemed more promising. The sweet desserts, I had heard were to die for. Got that one right. If this didn’t send me into a diabetic coma nothing ever would. The waiter brought a tray of desserts to look at. Halvah, marble halvah, rugala, a rugala assortment, something he said was rugala but wasn’t, and some flat thing that sounded like he said was chocolate cake. That would have been the safe bet, but since I felt like I had already abandoned my country I would try the rugala. I got the ‘something he said was rugala‘….which was basically shredded wheat soaked in way too much honey with pecans and apricot jam. Oh and a dusting of pistachio nuts that made the whole thing look like it had mold on it. And coffee. The coffee was great and the dessert made my teeth hurt, but I ate most of it anyway, just out of principle of course.

We paid the bill and left the undeserving waiter a decent tip so that he kept serving tables and didn’t go and join some sleeper cell. Next weekend I am going back to my Greek diner, where I can order a three egg omelet, waffles and home fries no matter what time of day it is. Opa!

i see you....

I just came back from an eye exam. I am still blind. The nice lady in the white smock (who I am sure there were two off)  put something kinda burn-y, kinda soothing in my eyes that made me tear a lovely shade of yellow. She then instructed me to put my chin and forehead on this machine so that she could look through my mustard colored tears and into my eyes. Not happening. I have breasts. If they really needed my head and chin to rest in this contraption they should have made allowances for them. They didn’t so I just sat contorted til the test was over. Another machine was dropped down in front of me and I was instructed to read the smallest line of letters on the chart on the far wall. Now keep in mind, I knew ahead of time there was a wall, and a chart….but letters? When I finally zeroed in on the smallest line I could read, lens were placed in front of each eye with the doctor asking which was clearer….A or B? 1 or 2? By the tenth A or B I could tell I must have been getting something wrong because she kept asking…are you sure? I assured her which will probably mean I will be walking around with brand new glasses and still be blind as a bat. I knew I shoulda picked A!

The exam done and still blotting yellow tears from my blurry eyes, I made my way to the fitting counter. This is the place that no matter what coverage you have through your job or union costs you a fortune. The frames covered under the health plans are usually big black ugly glasses that only a face like Cindy Crawford could make look good. On me, not so much. As the technician handed me pair after pair to try on in the huge magnified mirror, he complimented me. That one looks fabulous on you! Liar That one is perfect for the shape of your face. Gee I often wondered what went with fat and a double chin? These are so lighweight you won’t even know you have them on. Yes I will, I can see. So I settled for a more stylish frame, by a designer who made his fortune in cologne and now wants to charge more than twice what the other frames will cost and four times what the health plan allows. But I will look fabulous. So he says. Cha-ching! Then I was offered scratch resistant lens. Cha-ching! Gradient lens that allieviate the need for sunglasses, a steal. Cha-ching, cha-ching! Spring hinges so that if I sit on them they wont break. Cha-NO…..I refused these since I know that it is gonna take more than a little spring to help when my fat ass sits on them.

My eyes have stopped tearing enough to throw away my yellow stained tissue. I still look a little jaundice but I am assured it will go away. I fill out the necessary form, sign what had to be signed and took out my checkbook. $344...that is with my health coverage. I could have sold an organ and not made enough to pay for these glasses, but I am gonna look fabulous because these lightweight frames will go so well with the shape of my face…at least that’s what the tech told me. And if I don’t, and if they aren’t I will leash up my seeing eye dog, grab my white cane and hunt him down.

lies, all lies

My mother lied to me as I’m sure I have lied to my kids. They, in turn, are now lying to theirs. And I don’t mean about the tooth fairy or Easter Bunny.   15 lies my mother told me:

1. It’s just baby fat. Yes it was….and then it was teenage fat, and adolescent fat and now adult fat. My whole life I’ve been waiting for those baby rolls to go away, instead they escalated to a bakers dozen and then some.

2. I love you both the same but why cant you be like your brother? Why? Because if I was then I would have a penis and bathe once a week. Any other questions?

3. Never put shoes on the table, it’s bad luck. What’s gonna happen, are the shoe police gonna come and confiscate my Payless BOGO’s. (By One Get One) It’s not bad luck, its just disgusting.

4. Your eyes are bigger than your stomach. Have you seen my stomach? Wrong again mom. (see #1)

5. You’re not dumb, your just not trying! Yes Mom I was dumb. Cute as a button perhaps, but dumb as a stone. Math, not my forte. Science, forget it. History, not so much! I tried Mom I really did.

6. I’m gonna count to three! No your not. You never get to three. You either never start counting or you play the 2, 2 ½, 2 3/4 game….

7. Sitting too close to the TV will hurt your eyes. - Then why the hell did you put the couch where you did?

8. If you swallow a pit it will grow in your stomach. By your calculations I have a small orange grove, a watermelon patch and several cherry trees thriving in my gut. Hey maybe that’s why I cant lose weight, and they say fruit is good for you?!

9. Don’t make that face, it will freeze that way - If Jim Carrey’s face didn’t freeze I think I am relatively safe.

10. Two wrongs don’t make a right - Yeah OK but to tell you the truth it feels mighty good. Sometimes that second wrong is just necessary.

11. Act your age. I was four the first time I heard this. I must have been acting 3.

12. You better quit while your ahead - Somehow I doubt Michael Phelps and Lance Armstrong’s mom ever said this to them.

13. Eat your dinner… there are starving kids in other countries that would love the food on your plate. OK, so mail it to them. The peas stink…they are canned and salty and what kid likes peas anyway? Besides I think before Angelina adopts them all, the starving kids would rather a Twinkie or maybe something chocolate instead.

14. Wear clean bloomers in case you get hit by a car. Thanks Mom, but if I get hit by a car and the blood doesn’t ruin the outfit then I am pretty sure I will have shit myself anyway.

15. You’ll understand when you have kids of your own. Sorry I am still in the dark and my oldest is 34.

cheetah

There comes a time in everyone’s life when they have to be accountable for past actions and poor choices. I think in some religions they call it confession, in others, restitution and in others still, atonement. In my world it is called ‘getting caught’. I have a friend who’s husband confessed, restituted (is that a word?) and atoned but basically he got caught. He was dating a woman who wasn’t his wife, sleeping with a woman who wasn’t his wife and shared a Hampton beach house with a woman that wasn’t his wife. Problem is, it wasn’t the even the same woman who wasn’t his wife. Mr. Wonderful had 4 woman in his life at the same time. Four…that’s three more relationships than I know I could possibly handle! He canoodled during lunch, had more late night business meetings than an investment banker and he even slipped in and out at night when she was asleep. He avoided a paper trail by using cash for everything including hotels, motels and boatels. (a trick he picked up from Joey Buttafucco’s blunder) Each woman knew him by a different name although he did stick with his correct initials. (in case he blew his cheating, lying nose on his monogrammed handkerchief) He had his car cleaned after every clandestine visit to remove any remnants of the last woman he had in the car. (and I mean that in the literal sense as well) The sex he was having with his wife became mundane and limited and she had no idea why. Her Victoria Secret thongs were unimpressive. Her toned, tanned body barely piqued his interest anymore.

For some reason, Mr. Viagra broke off the relationships citing one reason or another that these cheap broads bought hook, line and sinker. Except for one. She wasn’t going down easy. She wanted her 15 minutes and she wouldn’t be silenced. She called his wife. She told her everything. She gave dates and times and locations. The problem was that the Mrs. already knew…deep down where it mattered most, she knew. She knew about them all. And knowing before you are told gives you a sense of empowerment. She agreed to meet with the woman and was frighteningly unimpressed with what she saw. Her husband had risked the stability of their lives for a romp with a woman that was plain at best. They talked for hours, and a bizarre friendship formed after many tears and too much wine.

That night she confronted him. She too named names, dates and locations. And he denied it. All of it. There were no other woman. There were no clandestine meetings. He simply didn’t do any of it…and to add insult to injury claimed he was appalled by her accusations, he packed. And left. It had been three days since she heard from him. He went to his girlfriend. She threw him out. He came back to his wife and she did the same. He decided to come clean and told her much of what she already knew. He expected forgiveness….there was none. Good riddance and stay tuned!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M0pftUq7QQw

when life hands you lemons.....

Sometimes Life Sucks - Look for the Silver Lining

Patrick Swayze’s death - I get to watch Dirty Dancing. It is my favorite movie and it will be shown like 20 times this week. I get to say ‘nobody puts baby in a corner’ as many times as the opportunity arises without sounding obnoxious.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vciEDI3dD8I

9/11 - Those flowery, seasonal, decorative foo-foo flags have been replaced by good old fashioned Betsy Ross, 50 stars, proud to be an American flags and will stay that way until the Halloween one replaces it.

 

Kanye West - Thanks to this loser, even black men have to admit that when this brother messed up at the VMA awards it was as racist as it gets. To him the fair-haired little white girl has no business winning over the black diva Beyonce?? And just ask Jay Leno about silver linings…premier show with Kanye as his guest….rating bonanza!

 

Broadway shows close due to poor ticket sales - The theatre prices have driven all but the wealthy away…but with ticket sales down I actually stand a chance of getting an aisle seat for my husband and I so that we don’t have to watch the play comfortably instead of in a constant inhale mode.

 

Sham Wow pitchman arrested for beating up a hooker - One less hooker, one less Sham Wow commercial.

 

Rep. Joe Wilson calling Obama a liar - Proof positive that we live in a true freedom of speech society where you can call a spade a spade (no pun intended) and not be hung.

Roger Federer defeated by 6 foot 6 Juan Del Potro at the US Open - We can finally state without embarrassment that size really does matter.

 

H1N1 virus - The schools have never been cleaner. The custodial staff finally cracked open that bottle of Lysol they bought in 2003. Hopefully when schools plan trips to foreign countries…they won’t. Rent the movie Outbreak for God’s sake! Why not go somewhere here in the states? We have monuments (think Rushmore), state parks, (think Yellowstone), and beaches (think Miami, Malibu, Coney Island), oh, and don’t worry, we have plenty of foreigners for that out-of-the-country experience.

 

Closing Guantanamo Bay - “Son, we live in a world that has walls, and those walls have to be guarded by men with guns. Who's gonna do it? You? You, Lieutenant Weinberg? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for Santiago and you curse the Marines. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that Santiago's death, while tragic, probably saved lives. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives! You don't want the truth because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me on that wall! You need me on that wall! We use words like Honor, Code, Loyalty. We use these words as the backbone of a life spent defending something. You use them as a punchline! I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom that I provide, and then questions the manner in which I provide it! I would rather you just said "Thank you" and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a weapon, and stand a post. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you are entitled to! - Jack Nicholson, A Few Good Men (I was sooo waiting for a time to use that quote)

Jacyee Duggard’s 18 years of captivity - The parole system will change. It has to. The parole officer that ‘paroled’ this psycho needs to get another job. Maybe at Taco Bell. Hopefully now sex offenders will be seen for what they are…uncontrollable and incurable. You hurt a child you go to jail and you stay there. Bubba is your new girlfriend and it is going to be a long engagement.

Barbie is that you?

I hate Facebook. (I hate it every time I sign on) I don’t want to know that you’ve just showered or peed or shaved your legs. It is of no importance to me whether you dined out or ate in, watched a movie or have a cold. I don’t care what time you went to bed, or with whom for that matter. (ok maybe I am just a little interested in that) I hate looking at pictures of where you have been, who you have met, or what you have accomplished. (I am jealous)

I don’t know how to build a farm or cultivate crops and I really suck at keeping endangered animals alive. I don’t care when it says you are gonna die, or myself for that matter and no matter how many quizzes you take, you don’t now or ever will look like Barbie or Ken for that matter. I don’t want to war with the mafia and chose not to partake when you ask me for help to do so. I can’t send you a gun or a bomb and if I could I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be advertising it on Facebook. Since I can’t really enjoy the drinks you sent, I will not pretend I did and send one back to you. I don’t care what actor or actress will play you in a movie because I doubt they will ever make a movie about your life or mine for that matter.

I have seen how you looked back in high school and it really isn’t necessary to tag yourself since other than the ridiculous hair do’s we all look quite the same. And speaking of tagging, if you tag me in a picture make sure it isn’t one of me stuffing my face (could be quite a feat!) or smiling like I am constipated. Unless it is Halloween or pretty close to it, I don’t want to see you dressed as a woman (if you are not) or man (ditto) or Elvis. If you want to show me costumes from your childhood, don’t bother.  I have made more than my share of ghosts, disney characters and music icons....I am bored with the whole holiday.

I cannot get more than 25,000 jewels to drop off the god damn board in one minute and I have no idea how anyone really does. I think they must cheat. I can’t pop over a million bubbles and breaking bricks just isn’t my thing.

I will join your causes as long as I don’t have to donate any money. I will sign your petition as long as I don’t have to donate any money. I will participate in your surveys as long as…well, you get the idea.

The movie star/singer/tv personality you think you are friends with on Facebook isn’t real. Do you really believe Angelina Jolie is by her laptop talking to you?  It’s some 70 year old toothless woman in tornado alley sitting at her computer shoe-less and more than likely bra-less scratching her…..self.  Derek Jeter isn't thanking you personally for the kudos you sent when he reached his milestone...it's probably Pete Rose.

If you get a virus because you played every game, joined every cause, accepted every gift, and repeatedly update your profile......you deserve it.  And if you tag me in something that gives me a virus I will hunt you down.

If you think for one minute any of this is true, you dont know me very well.  I am addicted to staying informed, staying involved, and staying in touch....I am addicted to Facebook and I can't wait to see your pictures, join your cause, drink your drinks, take your quizzes, beat your scores (or try to), visit places and countries I have never seen.  I want to help you get through a rough patch at work, at home, with him or her.  I'd love to send you a knife or a margarita and if I get a virus, it will be worth the connection.  I love Facebook.

in the middle of the night

I have insomnia. I get maybe four hours of sleep a night. They say it is bad for you. I agree. You have no idea the oddities that go on throughout the night while the world sleeps. (well at least this half of the world) Did you know that all through the night the ice maker in the fridge is busying itself making ice.   It knows, somehow, that right before you went to bed you threw five ice cubes in the dog’s water bowl and sets upon the task of replenishing.

Many of the tv channels go off the air after showing at least three hours of paid programming. (which simply translated into English means selling shit to those of us who are almost brain dead from lack of sleep) There is no music or flag waving like years ago, just a blue screen that says….off air. It is a little sad and a cue for me to go get the Nyquil (the stuffy, sneezy, coughing, aching, fever why the hell did I buy that pocket fisherman medicine) or I will never be able to function tomorrow.

The scary scurrying animals come out. I hear them rifling through my garbage. The possum, the raccoon and some other rodents I would rather not know are scampering around thisclose to my doors. I live in the city, but at least at my house upstate when things are scampering they are deer and chipmunks. Ya know, like Bambi and Alvin (and even the lesser know  Simon and Theodore).

The dog farts. Often. Maybe because it is quiet, or maybe because the doors and windows are closed….but my dog farts constantly all night and certainly more than during the day. He jumps up, does a little side step, looks at his ass as if to ask, what was that? was that me? It would be better if he just quietly lay there and did nothing. I would have thought it was my husband.

Your neighbors are up too. Not all of them, but there is always that one house where the lights go on in the bedroom, and then the bathroom and then the living room. The kiss of death. You leave the sanctity of the bedroom….its over. You go down any stairs at all…your done. You put the tv on….forget it. Just buy something useless and get it over with. You aren’t going back to sleep until you give someone your credit card over the phone.

Something leaks. Or drips. Or trickles. It could be the sink, the toilet, maybe even the hose outside. But you will hear it and it will make you have to pee.

Your house is sinking. Bit by bit. Inch by inch. Listen carefully and you will here the groaning and moaning of beams that have held up your house for decades. They have stood strong through wind and weather and even your fat Aunt Dolores and her three porcine offspring haven’t been able to break them. If you think back it started simple enough, a squeaky step…a whiney doorway floorboard…but in the middle of the night the beams seem to take on a life of their own. Bending and swaying to nothing. Creaking and scraping against the unknown. Just try to get back to sleep when you think the roof is caving in.
 

There are bugs that just wait for nighttime to begin their mating rituals. I suppose during the day the female bugs are all repulsive and unsightly and therefore undeserving of their attention. But at night, or maybe because it is too dark for them to actually see them, the females become these elegant, chic bug-lets with long antennas, and wispy wings. The males decide somewhere around midnight would be a good time to go courting by showing off there best leg rubbing skills….their proficiency in abdomen vibrating. The only bug noises that make me happy is the high pitched din of my bug- zapper when it catches one of the little bastards in full pursuit.